


gotta hand it to you

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Banter, Fingerfucking, Light Bondage, M/M, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or the one where <a href="http://river-b.tumblr.com/post/42979241133/not-my-three-patch-problem-x">gifs</a> of Nick licking squirty cream off his fingers made me really need fingerbanging porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gotta hand it to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckaandzac (becka)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/gifts).



> I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened.

Nick was waiting for Pixie once, in a dreadful bar in the City, filled with wankers in pinstriped suits and pastel shirts and jewel-toned ties loosened just enough, and he was eavesdropping on the conversation at the table next to him, because none of his bastard friends were returning his texts. One of the guys had his middle two fingers taped together, purple bruising on the exposed tips and spreading past the edges of the bandage strapping half his hand. He was spinning a tale to his friend about how he’d been fingerbanging a hot girl in a club toilet, and she’d been so into it, she’d broken three bones. Nick has always been suspicious of the story, because he’s pretty damn good with his fingers, and has had a lot of sex in club toilets, and the only bone he’s come close to having broken is his nose bone, when the dude with a rugby-player build caught his boyfriend giving Nick a blowjob. 

Then Nick met Harry Styles. Or, rather, then Nick met Harry Styles, spent four months completely convinced Harry wasn’t actually flirting with him, another two convinced that even if Harry was flirting with him, fucking him would be a terrible idea, then finally gave in. That’s when he started wondering if broken fingers were an actual possible consequence of sex. 

Tonight they are not in a club bathroom, and the problem is definitely not that Nick is trying to bend his hand around Harry’s jeans, because Harry’s jeans are in a pile with his shoes just inside Nick’s front door where he took them off as soon as they got home. His pants are next to the coffee table, and his shirt is outside the bathroom door. Nick’s not sure where his socks are, but Harry has learned that you don’t get in Nick’s bed with socks on unless you’re also in full PJs and there is no sex planned, so he’s got rid of them somewhere along the way. 

No, the problem is that Harry is jumping around like Nick’s taking a cattle prod to his bollocks, and clenching on Nick’s fingers like he’s sure Nick’s going to try to take them away. 

“Harry,” Nick says, flattening his free hand over the jut of Harry’s hipbone. Harry just thrusts against the pressure, twisting his hips to the side, taking Nick’s fingers with him. “Harry, love, slow down. We’ll get there, okay?” Harry’s hips still for a moment as he opens glassy eyes to gaze at Nick, licking his lips and sucking in a huge breath. 

But when Nick starts moving again, twisting his fingers in deep as he can, crooking them just right, stroking, Harry bucks hard, cries out, clutches at the sheets. It’s stupidly, _painfully_ hot, but Nick needs his fingers. Doesn’t want to have to take a trip to A &E. “Harold,” he says sharply, and flattens his palm just above where Harry’s dick is thrusting, _straining_ up from its nest of curls, and spreads his fingers wide across Harry’s belly. “Harry. Stay _still_.” 

Harry arches once, gasping, then pins himself to the bed, cock curved against the back of Nick’s hand, twitching. “ _Please_ ,” he breathes, leaving his mouth open around the end of the word, lips swollen and red, begging for Nick’s teeth. Nick was going to fuck Harry’s arse, but that mouth. He might make him come with his fingers, crawl up his body, fuck that mouth while Harry’s still trying to catch his breath. 

“You have cocksucking lips, popstar,” Nick says. “Anyone ever tell you that before?” 

“You,” Harry says. “Fucking, just—“

“You want to suck my dick?” 

“Want you to fucking _fuck_ me, fucking _tease_.” Harry grinds his arse down deliberately on the two fingers Nick has buried in it. It is a compelling argument, but Nick still thinks he wants Harry to come on his hand. 

“Your wish is my command,” Nick says, and if it doesn’t come out quite as archly as he intended, Harry probably won’t remember much of this conversation later anyway. Groping in the duvet for the bottle of Wet, he pulls his fingers almost all the way out, dribbles them with extra lube, and shoves back in with three. 

Harry lasts two thrusts, and then he’s digging his heels in, bucking up off the bed again, writhing and twisting and trying to break Nick’s whole damn arm. If Nick could only get Harry to keep his knees down, he wouldn’t have the leverage and—

Cuffs. Harry has skinny ankles; they’d probably fit him. “Stay,” Nick says, smacking Harry’s flank as he pulls his fingers out. 

“Niiiiick,” Harry whines, but Nick ignores him. Bottom drawer, he thinks. Guest side. Annnd he almost falls off the bed when Harry prods him with a foot, demanding to know what he’s doing. 

“If you can’t stay still on your own, I’m gonna make sure you can,” Nick says, reaching back to flick Harry’s shin. 

Harry clams up at that. Nick’s promised to tie him up a couple of times but they haven’t got around to it yet. Harry’d asked for hands, but Nick doesn’t think he’ll complain about feet, and where the hell— _Yes._ and they’ve still got rope tied to the D-rings from the last time Nick brought someone home who was into bondage. 

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes when Nick holds them up, triumphant. 

“Yes, ‘Oh’ is right. I’m going to tie you to my bed, make you come on my hand, and then fuck that filthy mouth of yours. What do you think about that?” 

Harry holds his hands out so fast Nick hardly sees them move. But, “Nope,” he says. “Legs.” 

That almost gets him kicked off the bed again in Harry’s eagerness to get his foot into Nick’s grasp. Best thing about Harry by a mile: you never need to wonder where you stand with him. 

The cuffs only fit on the loosest hole, and even then they’re tighter than Nick would usually like them, but Harry’s not going to take long, and they’re well padded. The way Harry’s looking at him as he loops the rope around the bedposts, it might be time to get some proper ankle cuffs though. He’s got Harry’s legs spread obscenely wide, and the strain in his thighs, the flush spreading down his chest, the way his dick’s drooling a thin slick line onto his belly—it’s something Nick’s pretty sure he’d like to be able to look at for fucking _hours_. 

“Jesus, Haz,” Nick breathes, and Harry smiles like he’s maybe thinking about joking Nick doesn’t have to call him Jesus, but he can’t quite find the oxygen. Nick knows how he feels. But now is not the time to sit and stare. He’s got a mission here, and why the hell did he buy lube with a label the same colour as his sheets?

With Nick’s fingers slick again, Harry takes three so easily that Nick slips his pinky in as well. And Harry tries to arch and twist and grind, but Nick was right, his leverage is gone, and he can only shift restlessly, fists clutching at the sheets, eyes and mouth and face wide open.

It's only been a few months they've been doing this thing, and Harry's been away half the time, but they’ve done enough Nick can tell this time's different. Something in Harry's face, in the set of his jaw maybe, like he isn't concentrating on Nick opening him up, like he's there already, wherever Nick's trying to get him. 

"You with me, popstar?" Nick asks, getting a low, rough moan in response, Harry tugging at his bonds enough to get Nick's hand a fraction deeper. Deep enough so Nick's knuckles are stretching him wide. Nick turns his hand, left, right, just a fraction, just to feel the way Harry's body teeters between give and resistance. He's so hot, so slick and soft, making these sounds like Nick doesn't even know what, and Nick might not make it to his mouth. Might nut right here between Harry's widespread thighs. 

When Nick can tear his gaze away from where his hand's half disappeared into Harry's arse, it lands on Harry's cock, livid now, precome streaming from the tip, slipping down Harry's abs, pooling in the cut of his hip. It's so much, Nick wants to see if he can get even more, so he curls his fingers upwards, pushes his thumb up behind Harry's balls, fucks him in shallow little movements until, yeah, there it is, Harry's prostate in the palm of his hand as it were, and Harry's dick is jumping, spurting bead after bead of thick clear liquid every time Nick moves. 

Harry’s eyes have fluttered shut again, and his head's tipped back so far he's little more than throat and curls and the long taut line of his body. Nick wants to know if Harry can come like this, and he's not sure he can give up the death grip he's got on Harry's thigh to jerk him anyway. Soft, he says, "Harry, love, you want to use your hand?" 

Harry shakes his head, a single quick jerk. 

"Want mine?"

"Can," Harry says, gasps. "Can, can, just, harder."

Nick doesn't want to hurt him, and they've never done four fingers before, but Harry doesn't seem like he's struggling to take what Nick's already giving him, so Nick fucks him harder, then faster when Harry starts saying, "Yes, yes, yes," every time Nick bottoms out at the span of his knuckles. 

In the end, Harry does use his hand, but not to touch his dick; he grabs Nick’s wrist, shoves his fingers deep as they’ll go and holds him there while Harry comes in long spurts up his chest. 

Nick takes one look at Harry lying there spent and changes his mind about getting head. Harry's usually giggling afterwards, taking the piss or going over the top praising Nick's talents, but tonight he looks shell shocked, staring at Nick like he's not sure quite what Nick is doing, keeping his grip on Nick's wrist, though he doesn't protest when Nick eases his fingers from the clutch of Harry's body.  
   
"Harry?" Nick asks, stroking the inside of Harry's thigh with the hand he's had on Harry's hip.  
   
"Mmmmgh," Harry groans, blinking a few times.  
   
"You okay?"  
   
Harry tries to pull his legs together, but they're still tied tight to the bedposts. Easing his hand from Harry's grasp, Nick turns to let him out of the cuffs. Harry pulls like he doesn't want them off, but Nick won't leave him uncomfortable, and doesn't want to risk cutting off his circulation or anything. "Just gonna untie you, love. It's okay." He has to fumble a bit with the buckles because there's not much give, but it only takes a few seconds, even if it feels much longer.  
   
As soon as Harry's free, he wraps his legs around Nick's body. "Okay," Nick says, and why isn't Harry talking to him? "Right here." With a twist that comes a little too close to catching his still semi-hard cock between their thighs, Nick navigates Harry's octopus routine and gets his arms around him.  
   
"Fuck," Harry says into the hollow of Nick's throat. "Think I— Yeah. Think I like being tied up."  
   
Something loosens in Nick's chest. It's not like he was _scared_ , but Harry is stupidly predictable, except, apparently, when you tie him up. "Yeah?" Nick says, stroking Harry's hair. The boy needs a shower anyway, so a little lube isn’t going to make a difference.

“Think you might,” Nick says. “Always suspected you were a kinky beast.” 

“Shh,” Harry says, fingers moving on Nick’s ribs like he’s not quite got control over them again yet. 

“Lucky I like that in cheeky popstars.” 

“You’re lucky,” Harry murmurs, nuzzling his way further under Nick’s chin. 

“Ha,” Nick says, but Harry just kisses him in the hollow between his collar bones. 

Three months ago, Nick told anyone who’d listen that he doesn’t cuddle after sex. His girl friends sometimes laughed at that, because he’s kind of a cuddleslut with people he’s not shagging, but it was completely true. He hasn’t brought himself to admit to any of them yet how it is with Harry, who would, as far as Nick can tell, like to be cuddled twenty-four hours a day. Actually, that part, they’ve probably noticed. What Nick can’t tell them is that even if Harry didn’t demand it, Nick would be right there giving it to him. 

Usually Nick at least gets to come first, though. Aimee would laugh her arse off if she could see him now, tangled in Harry’s ridiculous long limbs, somehow more into the feel of Harry’s mouth moving softly on his collar bone than he is about the press of Harry’s abs against his semi. 

The minutes stretch out, into the time where Nick should be getting restless, past that. Past the time where he should have got up and gone to wank in the loo, make himself some coffee, watch TV until the guy in his bed decides enough is enough and it’s time to go home. And the worst of it, Nick thinks, the _worst_ of it, is that he’s _happy_. 

“Mmm,” he says, and he so didn’t mean to. 

“Mmm,” Harry says back. “I’m all—“ Harry blinks; Nick can feel it against his throat. “Shit. You didn’t come yet. Did you?” Harry’s fingers move down Nick’s side with more purpose now. 

“No. It’s terrible. I shall die of blue balls and they’ll have to put your name on my headstone.” 

“Sorry,” Harry says, like he’s got no idea that Nick is being sarcastic. Which is ridiculous, because Nick is always being sarcastic, and Harry knows this. 

“Hey,” Nick says, pulling back far enough to tip Harry’s chin so Nick can look him in the eye. “I won’t actually put your name on my headstone. Promise.” 

Harry’s smile is sweet and sly the way only Harry can manage. “That’s a myth anyway,” he says. “Something boys say to try to convince girls to do things they don’t want to do.” 

Surprised at Harry’s earnest tone, Nick laughs. “Does it work?” 

“Wouldn’t know,” Harry says. 

“Because girls always want to do what you want them to?” 

Harry shoves him. Not hard, but hard enough that Nick lets the momentum flop him onto his back where he can look up at Harry’s indignant face from the comfort of his pillow. 

“Because I’ve never tried it. Don’t be a dick.” 

Nick can’t help grinning at him. “You’re a strange one, Styles.” 

“I’m nice,” Harry says. And Nick has to pull him down and kiss him. Because he _is_ nice. It’s a problem. 

“You’re a menace,” Nick tells him. “And I bet your mother’s very proud.” 

“You know she’s proud. You two tweet about how great I am all the time. I’ve seen you.” 

“Do not,” Nick says, which is stupid, because it’s clearly a lie. It’s okay though, because Nick is comfortable lying. 

“Do too,” Harry protests, and darts in to nip at Nick’s shoulder with dastardly sharp teeth. 

“Fine,” Nick says, swatting at him. “Fine.” 

Harry beams. “I was going to give you a blowjob, wasn’t I?” 

Someday, Nick is certain, his stomach isn’t going to leap and swoop when Harry says such things. Today is not that day. “Were you?” Nick says, all casual like. Mostly. 

“I was,” Harry says, and he does. 

And he doesn’t even protest when at one point during the proceedings, Nick grabs his hand so enthusiastically he nearly breaks Harry’s fingers.


End file.
